Finally

I found a song. It's been a while, and this one is very short and I don't think it's quite finished yet. But I think I like it so far. I found a way to record the keyboard, too, instead of the blinds, so that's weird and fun. And pretend the sound is that of a grand piano in Carnegie Hall, not that of a cheap, emotionless mock piano.

These are not my cookies.

I don't get many emails from students, but I got one yesterday. From a quiet student who seemed to want to blend into the wall during class. So much so that I barely knew her, though she did very well in class. In the email, she asked for the recipe for the cookies I had shared with my students on the last day of class. I sent her a link to the recipe ( http://bakeoff-flunkie.blogspot.com/2010/07/kaitlyns-outrageous-oatmeal-chocolate.html if you're feeling bakey) and a follow up email explaining how I chopped up dark chocolate to make chocolate chips. I also bid her good luck and figured I'd never hear from her again. This morning, I got a second email from her with the above picture attached to the below message:

"Good morning miss Erin :) I did cookie yesterday night they turn out well but absolutely yours is more delicious than mine. Thanks for your help have a good time :)"

Being me, I can't think of a better email to end this semester on. Here's to the quiet quirky wonderful kids, to spreading the love of cookies, and to two weeks of vacation. G'night.

Dear Warrior,

I sat in your tomb yesterday. In the sacred space encrusted with a spear-pierced shield where your broken body was placed. I sat there, heard my laugh echo, had my picture taken there, ran my hand through the moss growing in the corner, sniffed the moldy lining, in the tiny concrete box that your family, your friends, your enemies, all thought belonged solely to you. A space where you could rest, in peace, forever. Where your loved ones could kneel and drop tears and flowers onto the rocks, where they felt you were safe from further harm, from further desecration. You are no longer there, though. Your organs have long ago dissolved, your hair has been woven into ancient bird nests, and your bones have been scattered across the land, by the hands of thieves and the teeth of dogs. Not a trace of you remains there, where I sat yesterday, feeling alive and whole and happy. And now I wonder whether I should apologize or say thank you.    

howl

it's a pity the moon can't howl back. just to let us know that she's listening. snout to the stars, ears sharpened points, eyes zipped shut, fur on end, paws firmly planted, tail slowly pushing pine needles through the dust. and howling till there's nothing left to howl.